Antithesis
by Child of Loki
Summary: Callen and Nell find themselves at opposite ends of an argument, and the tension created by their disagreement is becoming unmanageable...
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS: LA or its characters…**

**Author's Note: There doesn't seem to be a lot of Nell/Callen fics in the love-hate genre, which is sort of odd, considering it is a staple of romance stories because tension is hot. Thus I was inspired to share this. **

**(I know I should be working on **_**Exposed**_**, but if you write, you'll understand that inspiration isn't linear or focused. Aka, my mind wandered and I let it. )**

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There was a disturbing rumble emerging from his chest, and G. Callen recognized the growl that was insisting to be released. He didn't feel much like fighting it down, for the instigator of the response was but a few yards before him and heading away in the opposite direction. The evil little pixie had not seen him. And if she had, she likely would be walking at a faster pace than her oblivious one. He highly doubted she would stop to greet him and have a brief pointless palaver.

Small talk was definitely not on his mind, either.

The senior field agent of NCIS' Office of Special Projects caught the petite woman up with a few purposeful strides, grabbing her bicep and spinning her to face him. Nell Jones had an incredulous, surprised look on her face at the interruption, her lips parted as if she had barely prevented herself from screaming at the sudden seizure of her person.

"You filed the report," Callen said. His voice was sharp, angry. And he did nothing to temper it. He _was_ angry. It was one thing to be at odds with the intelligence analyst. It was another for her to go behind his back and betray him like she did. Callen did not handle betrayal well, especially from one of the few people in the entirety of his life he had actually trusted.

"Without even consulting me first."

Nell's shocked expression turned indignant.

"I did not," she said. Her normally gentle tone took on the biting edge he'd come to know rather well over the past couple of days. Her hazel eyes flashed as they locked with his. God damn her! Callen just wanted to grab her by the arms and shake some sense into the foolish, stubborn young woman.

"I had to file a progress _update_, since the senior agent is refusing to sign off on the final report."

Callen really did growl. Semantics. Semantics and Sarcasm. He may have not liked her in the very beginning when she first arrived, with her constant interruptions and the fact that he had to adapt to another person on his team, an unknown factor. But he_ had _adapted, had begun to like Nell Jones. To trust her. They got along fine. Perhaps because she was so very socially easy-going, and not necessarily a compliant push-over, but willing to accommodate others, such as a surly, broken, moody senior agent. And while she was undeniably prone to wit with an edge of sarcasm, she had never been hostilely sardonic towards him before. Well, up to a few days ago, when they'd been assigned to create a report analyzing and outlining a plan for infiltrating a certain terrorist network. Rather quickly, they ran into The Disagreement. Callen knew he was right. And Nell Jones most apparently thought she was right, too. They'd been feuding and fuming ever since. He wouldn't give. The life of an agent depended upon their recommendation, and possibly thousands of others that could be saved by the undercover operation. Her refusal to budge had at first surprised and even intrigued him a little.

Now it only frustrated him to the point of insanity.

"Callen."

When had he pushed her up against the wall?

He was never good at expressing himself, and the extra sparring with Sam was just not releasing all of the tension his tiff with Nell was generating. The young woman looked a little frightened, but a lot more pissed off at being handled as she was. The challenge in her eyes stirred him up and he found that he just couldn't step back and walk away right that moment like he should. Besides, since sense and reason hadn't worked so far, maybe intimidation could. A low tactic to use on someone who was a friend. But at the moment, he couldn't think of Nell Jones as anything besides the enemy in this little war.

"Nell, why don't you just trust me, that I'm right?" he asked, looming in the way he'd cultivated over the years for use on suspects.

Her jaw jutted out assertively, and she said, "Why don't you trust me, that I'm right?"

He growled again as an additional wave of frustration washed over him. He'd never seen Nell so passionately vindictive and rebellious to authority, _his authority_. Every word she spoke to him on the matter, every fiery look, was a challenge to him. And he just couldn't stand it. She was driving him completely mad.

Perhaps insanity was why G. Callen did something so entirely unexpected that it even took he himself by surprise.

He kissed Nell Jones.

It was the most aggressive kiss he'd ever initiated and at first Nell froze entirely beneath him, as he ran his tongue over her lips and nipped at the soft, sensitive flesh with his teeth. And then she relented, but somehow without yielding to him. Rather she kissed him back just as aggressively as he had attacked her, hands reaching up and circling around his neck, pulling him down to her, granting her better access to his mouth. His own hands found her waist, and pulled her tight against him. Relatively quickly, for he seemed to not have the coherence to stand and kiss the young woman at the same time, they both went staggering back against the wall. His larger body crushed her into the unyielding surface, but he felt no desire to withdraw. The feel of her, the taste of her, was far too overwhelming.

Finally, they were forced to break apart when the brief sharp breaths they managed to steal amongst the fervent kissing were no longer providing enough oxygen to their brains. Callen stepped back, breathing heavily, his eyes fixed on the flushed young woman standing before him. She was nearly panting for air, her pale skin a deep shade of pink, her lips red and swollen from his mouth's assault upon them. Her hazel eyes were the largest, roundest he'd ever seen, filled with what could only be described as 'shock'. She looked like nothing more than a fluffy woodland animal caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. Before he could say a word, before he could even catch her, Nell Jones bolted. She literally sprinted down the hall, away from the man she'd just made out with rather heavily.

G. Callen took a couple steps forward, and rested his forehead against the solid, cold wall. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on slowing his heart rate to normal.

What the _hell _had just happened?

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**A/N: Will they resolve their little tiff? **


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: This is probably a little too fun to write for my own good… And perhaps you've noticed I've upped the rating. Apologies if you had difficulties finding the fic as a result. **

**Warning: Contains Mature Subject Matter (but nothing explicit, I don't think…) And a bad word or two.**

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"This is obviously not working," Nell Jones said, her voice a barely controlled calm. As for his own temperament, it had strayed off the path to inner enlightenment long ago. This had been a bad idea. They'd gotten nowhere further in settling their argument. And if anything the tension had only worsened since he'd talked her into giving another try at finishing the report.

All day the young intelligence analyst had been avoiding him. And rightly so. But how could he apologize for overstepping his bounds so, so very badly, when she wouldn't even allow herself to be alone in a room with him? Hell, she wouldn't even permit herself to be confined with him out of ear shot of anyone else. It took some contriving, and some feeling like a sleazy stalker, but he did manage to corner her when she thought he and Sam had left to switch off surveillance with Deeks and Kensi on a gun-smuggling suspect. She had let her guard down, and when she walked into the incinerator room with a pile of old documents stacked up to her nose, Callen closed the door behind her and inadvertently scared the petite woman half out of her wits. Papers went flying everywhere, and he scrambled to help her pick them up, their hands meeting briefly and a spark jolting him to the core. When he looked at Nell she was blushing.

"Forget it!" She stood suddenly, throwing her hands up in the air. "I can't handle this."

Callen dropped the papers in his hand, rising to his feet as well. He opened his mouth to offer the apology but she cut him off.

"Don't. Just don't," Nell said, with a look of resignation on her delicate features. She had all the tells of a woman used to being hurt, of being rejected, of one who carried on with her optimism because her self worth arose from other places than the validation of others. "It never happened."

If that's how Nell wanted it, then that's how it'd be. Besides, what excuses or explanation could he give for what he'd done? He had none even to give himself. The best thing to do was to just get on with life. And so he had proposed that they try to put their differences aside and do their job; finish that aggravating report. Nell had agreed to meet with him when he and Sam got back from their surveillance shift. No one should've been around that late, but in case there were lingerers, those like themselves working into the wee hours of the morning, they had decided to meet at the Boathouse for some peace (or, as it were, to have their inevitable shouting match in private).

And so, here Callen found himself staring across a table spread with files, reports, maps, and laptops at an extremely irate young woman. He found it oddly exhilarating to argue with the generally genial creature. He was a survivor, and part of that was enjoying a good fight. But this was not the place or time for it.

"What do you suggest?" he asked.

Nell chewed her lip, her brain obviously operating a mile a minute. The intelligence analyst never boasted about it, actually seemed rather embarrassed and shy when it was mentioned, but Callen knew she had a genius level IQ. She should be able to figure out some sort of resolution to their stalemate, even though neither of them seemed willing to budge on their stances.

"We should approach this from another direction," she said. "Analyze the consequences of the scenarios if we're mistaken."

"You're saying we should opt for the lesser of two evils?" he asked.

"Basically, yes," Nell said with a shrug.

Callen pondered the suggestion briefly. It was a roundabout approach to something that should be certain and straightforward. But deciding on a course of action that either ignored Nell's intelligence and abilities or Callen's experience and instincts would never be a solid recommendation. Callen knew the source that had provided the intel he was working on, trusted the man with more than his own life, with the lives, safety and security of millions. Callen's source was _not_ wrong. But he'd heard Nell's arguments, knew how certain she was of the data analyses, supported by multiple sources she believed to be as valid as Callen's. Middle ground had proven impossible. But maybe this new approach would settle it for them from an outside perspective.

"Alright. Let's do it." He winked at her. "What else have we got to lose, besides several more hours arguing?"

She smiled weakly at him, obviously ashamed of her temper once she cooled off. But when she was in the heat of it... _god_, she was a fiery little pixie.

"First, we'll assume I'm wrong." She glanced up from whatever she'd been typing to lock eyes with him. "But I'm not."

Callen checked the growl deep inside of him from answering her assertive behavior. There were certainly downsides to being an alpha male. He had no delusions about his fallacies, how off-putting he could be, how temperamental and sometimes too proud, how his loner tendencies hurt his friends, how he tended to respond in kind to aggressive behavior. And Nell had been challenging his dominance ever since this dispute had arisen.

"If I'm wrong..." she was still preoccupied by the screen of the laptop before her, by whatever program she was running. But Callen didn't need any analysis for the answer. And neither did Nell, if she was half as sensible as he thought she was.

"Nell, you don't need a computer program to tell you what will happen if your recommendation is faulty." He shut the laptop on her, being careful to do so slowly as to not catch her fingers or antagonize her further than he already had that day. She wouldn't meet his eyes, which informed him that he had been right about her possession of some common sense.

"I know," she said quietly.

"And what exactly will happen if Fuad Karim cannot be trusted?" he asked.

It all hinged on this one man, Sheikh Amjad's right hand man, who according to their intelligence sources disagreed with his boss's support of a local terrorist network that was growing more global in its aspirations by the day. Nell's sources, data, analyses all concluded the man could and should be utilized in any undercover operation against the sheikh. However, Callen's source was convinced Karim was loyal to the powerful elder. And if they sent a man in under the impression he could trust Karim to not only keep his secret and share intelligence, but also to be the go between for contacting handlers (an ingenious way to keep suspicion off their man in the inside, provided they indeed actually had a turncoat on their side as well), and were utterly mistaken...

"Don't condescend to me," she said.

That fierceness was back in her voice. And her eyes shot daggers at him.

"I need to hear you say it, Nell."

Her hazel eyes darkened and narrowed. She was _so_ pissed off. Callen tried to tell himself that he was doing this to make sure, absolutely sure Nell knew the gravity of the situation. That she wasn't just clinging to her opinion out of some sense of pride and rebellion against him. But god help him, deep down in that primal part of him, he sort of enjoyed getting a rise out of her. She had gotten to her feet and was leaning, with hands flat on the tabletop and arm muscles taut. Taut as the tendons in her neck, he noted. She was wound as tightly as a coiled spring, bounding with potential energy. Nell Jones had never come across as a slouch by any means. She seemed to have a near perpetual supply of bubbling energy, but this... this was different. This was energy of an entirely separate nature. It was sharp and dangerous. And so very enticing, like the hot coals of a fire begging to be transformed into a blaze that could either warm or burn a person. He wouldn't be able to back off even if he'd wanted to do so.

"If I'm wrong, if Fuad Karim cannot be trusted..." Had her words been able to cut, she'd sharpened the edge enough to sever his head from his body with a single sweep. "Then our agent is as good as dead."

Callen tried not to look triumphant because it was so very inappropriate, but he feared a bit of smugness seeped through, if Nell's reaction was any indication. She was visibly grinding her teeth, and looked like she was about to pounce on him and rip his throat out, provided that she hadn't already ground her teeth down to dull nubs. Blame that damned Alpha Male in him to enjoy making her submit.

But oh, she hadn't submitted. Not yet.

"However, if we run this _your_ way," she said, challenging him further and forcing him to his feet to mirror her stance, meeting her on the battlefield of the old wooden table.

"The agent's cover will be secure," he said. She inhaled sharply and appeared to bite her tongue against reacting violently to his interruption. After taking another breath, she continued with her original argument, one filled with as much passion as she had begun it.

"If we send an agent in alone, he won't be coming back." Nell's hazel eyes locked with Callen's, as if she were trying to force him to see the situation as she saw it. "I've run as many analyses and scenarios as possible. Even with the best imaginable skill-set and experience, the agent will fail. There is less than a 5% probability he'll succeed. Even if he manages to gather the intelligence, there's no way to ensure it will get back to his handlers and ultimately those who can use the information. There's no chance he makes it out alive."

"Nell, you're good, but there is no way you can account for _all _of the variables in an operation."

"ARGH!" She literally pounded a fist on the table in frustration. "We have no system established in the area. Without using Karim, there is no support system for our agent. Without a support system, there's no way to set up a clean extraction. Amjad keeps extremely tight control over his men and holds a vast, patrolled territory. Anyone placed close enough to the sheikh to gather useful information will be noticed missing immediately. They won't make it out on their own. Not even _you _would make it out."

He gave Nell a questioning look when she brought him specifically into her argument. Is that what was bothering her about this project?

"It won't be me, Nell," he said. "I don't exactly fit the criteria for 'middle eastern man seeks like minded friends.'"

She made a swatting gesture with her hand, as if batting away his implication.

"I used your file, your statistics, because you're the ideal agent -statistical modeling wise- for long-term, risky, deep cover operations," she said. "And without miraculous luck, you wouldn't pull this off either, Callen. Don't you get it? It's suicide, a pointless waste of an agent's life. Unless we have someone on the inside."

"But Karim can't be trusted," Callen said.

Nell's temper flared once more. She appeared to be determining which were his vulnerable spots, calculating how she could take him down and do him the most damage to maximize her satisfaction. It must be just the light, but her hazel eyes seemed to glow nearly predatory golden, like a bird of prey or a wolf's sharp yellow eyes.

Obviously, he had always been one to push the envelope, for Callen leaned in a little further, and whispered, "Has anyone ever told you how strikingly beautiful you are when you're pissed off?"

Her eyes widened as confusion briefly softened her features. And then the tension was back, tightening every muscle in her body so that he was fairly certain if her hands weren't firmly placed on the tabletop, they'd be shaking with her fury.

"Do you think flattery and seduction is going to get me to give in to you on this?" Her mouth thinned, and Callen couldn't help but make the comparison to how plump, red and moist her lips had been after they'd been kissing earlier that day... really, was it only that morning they'd been locked in that unexpected, fervent embrace? He tried to shake off the recollection of her warmth, her taste, the feel of her. Because what she was accusing him of was very dangerous indeed. And totally untrue... wasn't it? That hadn't been his intention in kissing her, right? To win? Hell, the feeling, the needing to dominate her had definitely been in that embrace. But it hadn't been a conscious decision on his part. It had nothing to do with this particular argument as much as there was just something about a ticked-off Nell that... It'd been entirely instinctual; a crazy, primal lapse in judgment. One which was threatening to recur.

"No. Earlier..." Callen sighed, trying to figure how to make her understand. "That wasn't about our disagreement over this report."

Nell gave him an 'Oh really? Puh-lease!' sarcastic look that he just knew her parents had been witness to numerous times during the young woman's teenage years.

"I just... The tension got to me." He knew it was a lame excuse and Nell looked like she were about to tear him to pieces for it.

And then he snapped.

Maybe it was the fire in her eyes, or the set of her jaw. Or the obviously tense muscles that made her look like a feral cat about to pounce. Or maybe the way he could see her heart beating hard at the pulse point in her neck. But whatever the reason, he snapped.

Before he could even think to check himself, he'd grabbed Nell and dragged her up onto the table, sending papers fluttering to the floor, and knocking his own laptop to the side without a second thought. Her back hit the worn wood with a thud and she gasped in shock, as he took her by surprise once more. But really, what did she expect from him, with all of her posturing and challenging his dominance? Had she been a man, they'd have engaged in a nice, bloody fight by now, perhaps broken some bones to boot, and settled matters. But Nell was most definitely _not_ a man. And the tension between the two of them was confusing his poor instincts. Besides, he knew what her lips tasted like. And it was a favorable flavor to him.

And so in a flash he was up on the tabletop too, on _her_, preventing her from struggling to sit up and then (doubtless) make a mad dash for freedom from the insanity, as she had done earlier that day. Judging from her squirming and her angry eyes, Callen didn't think she'd kiss him back this time. And then he'd have some serious explaining and apologizing to do. But she did. And that brief question as to_ whether _he should be doing this, evaporated altogether. God, she tasted better than he remembered. How could he have forgotten in less than a day? Well, it'd always be better experiencing than remembering this woman. He could tell. Memories often smoothed over the rough, not so pleasant edges of former lovers. But Nell in the moment had a vital energy that could never be captured or reproduced in a recollection. And so he'd take everything he could get and savor every bit of it.

He'd only sampled her lips earlier, and the naked skin of her throat, neck, and collarbones called to him. Generally, Nell was completely covered, with high necklines, low hemlines and full-length sleeves. This had been a day when she sported one of her cute retro dresses that bared her arms and shoulders (except for the cardigan she'd adorned) and an expanse of skin from her throat down to just above her breasts. He tested the response of kissing various portions of this delightful plane, licking and nipping along the way. Nell made the most intriguing little gasping noises as he did so.

Her fingers had fisted into his shirt and her body had begun to arch into him. Had she even realized that her legs had opened to him, hooking around him and pulling him tighter to her? He himself barely realized in time that he'd been reaching for his jeans zipper, and managed to stay his hand, instead grabbing the curve of her hip. Because he wasn't going to fuck Nell on a tabletop amongst piles of research in the Boathouse. But he couldn't quite let go of her either. Not yet. He needed just a little more of her. Just a little longer being pressed flush against her, kissing her smooth white skin, hearing her whimper in pleasure...

His hand, his hand that had a mind of its own, his hand that had tried to get him to slide into home plate without rounding all of the bases first, his naughty, disobedient hand, had begun to stroke Nell's hip and outer thigh. And then it found the hem of her dress, slipping beneath it to caress the smooth skin of her naked thigh, and upwards, over her belly.

Her skin was so soft.

His fingertips played lightly around her navel and she literally giggled. He placed kisses along her jawline as his hand traveled slowly southward. And then he claimed her mouth, kissing her fervently. Because maybe his hand wasn't the only naughty one. Maybe it wasn't so much disobedient as obedient. Maybe he was distracting her as his naughty hand slipped into her panties and... And he really, really shouldn't. But he just had to...

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**A/N: Oops… that ended up a little dirtier than I had intended. Oh, hell, I'm lying. This was totally headed in a naughty direction from when it first popped into my head. I just thought I could censor myself and clean it up more. But there's nothing too explicit for this site so far, right? (Please let me know. I'm confused now that I've read 'real literature' that honestly seems more graphic than a lot of MA fanfic out there.)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Back from (internet-less) vacation…and have some more smut to share. ;-) **

**Thanks for all the feedback. :-)**

**Warning: (probably redundant/unnecessary if you made it this far, but…) Contains references to mature subject matter. Nothing too explicit.**

**Enjoy…**

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The water was perhaps too hot, his hands well past clean. Yet Callen continued to scrub the reddened flesh. He was beyond angry with himself. Never had he lost control like this. Undeniably, he'd lost his temper often, given in to complete rage, and even killed because of it. But this, this was different. This loss of control was against a friend. And it was of a variety he'd never really felt before, lust on a blinding scale. In fact, he hadn't succumbed to such maddening urges, hadn't had to... _take care of himself _since he was a hormonal, randy teenager. When he felt the need, Callen would just go find a woman. His self-confidence and smoothly honed social skills always ensured he'd find company if he desired it. And he was always in control with them, never letting the real G. Callen appear, only letting them sate the needs of his body. Because them knowing the real him, or him knowing them, that led to things like broken hearts. And he'd had enough of that experience not to make the same mistake again. No. This loss of control was extremely dangerous. Because Nell knew his name. His _real_ name. And he knew hers.

He had known it was wrong and stupid to give in, but in the moment, he just hadn't cared. True, he'd prevented himself from performing that most intimate of acts (just barely). But at the same time, what he'd done was worse, far worse. He'd touched her, violated her, fucked her without allowing her to do the same to him. It was something he'd done_ to _her, not _with _her. And it was just more of his Alpha Male bullshit, wasn't it? The need to dominate interwoven with the insane attraction he'd developed for the young woman.

Why couldn't he have just bit it down, kept his hands to himself, and found some stranger in a bar to have dirty, nameless sex with after he left Nell in one unmolested piece?

But no. He had to go and pin her down on top of that table. Kiss her delectable alabaster skin. And slide his hand up her skirt and down between her thighs. Oh, god. The feel of her. And the sounds she made in the back of her throat, half purr, half whimper, leading into soft moans, and then his name on her lips 'Oh, Callen!' and a contended sigh as her tensed muscles relaxed and her body melted against the tabletop beneath him.

And then he'd realized what he'd done, like a man snapping out of a trance. For truly, he had been utterly mesmerized by Nell, her fiery energy, her responses to his touch, her pleasure. And he felt sincere, deep and cutting guilt for what he'd done to her that day, how he'd played with her like some new toy he just had to have even though he knew he wouldn't, _couldn't_ keep it, keep _her. _

Stroking the flushed skin of her cheek gently and staring unwaveringly into her bright hazel eyes, for he'd wanted to make sure she believed him, Callen had said, "You're beautiful, Nell."

He'd kissed her temple and whispered an apology in her ear before removing himself as quickly as possible from the situation. The hasty retreat hadn't been to avoid the doubtlessly imminent questions as to _what the hell was happening between them, exactly?_ Okay, so it partly had been. But it'd primarily been due to the fact that Callen had never been so damned aroused in his life, nor so out of control. And that combination was a dangerous thing, primarily to Nell Jones.

He'd made his way as briskly as possible, given his condition, and ducked into the nearest men's room, locking the door behind him and swiftly seeing to his problem. It hadn't been a particularly difficult task, considering the sound and image of a woman brought to orgasm at his hands was fresh in his mind.

Callen finally called his raw hands clean, physically if not metaphorically, and shut the faucet off, taking a paper towel to dry them and cursing himself all the while. He'd cultivated his self-control over the entirety of his life. At first, it had been a defense mechanism against a cold, lonely world. And then it had proven useful in his choice of career, which often didn't involve much more than surviving itself. And now it was failing him. All over one relatively unimportant argument with a colleague very much his junior. Granted it was a colleague whom he just realized possessed the most captivating hazel eyes, creamiest skin and lithe, slender (but not without curves) body. And the most fiery personality since... _since Tracy_.

Okay, definitely in the danger zone, here.

But Nell _wasn't_ Tracy. Frankly, the young woman was a much better person at her core. And Callen was no longer the naive young man he'd once been, still desperate to find some sort of love and affection in the world to replace that which he'd been deprived of all his life. He knew better than to believe he could ever have a genuine romantic relationship with a woman. And he knew better than to lust after women he worked with. Never ever let such entanglements into the workplace, into his 'real' life. That led to all sorts of problems, like tension and awkwardness when things went south (which they inevitably did). And not just between the two parties romantically involved (or sexually, for that's as far as Callen would take things, refusing to involve his heart in such matters). Because when coworkers found out about the illicit affair... _Oh, shit!_

Callen fumbled with the door handle briefly before remembering he had locked it for some...um, _privacy_. Really, what would it matter how quickly he got to ops? In fact, running all out for the technological heart of the OSP was likely to draw whatever (if any) attention there was to be drawn. Luckily, the place did seem to be in those rare few hours of sleep mode; dark, quiet, seemingly vacant. However, Callen still hesitated before entering the operations center, taking a moment to steady his breathing. It wouldn't do to appear like he'd been running all out as if his life depended on reaching the place (which he sort of had been) if there was a lurking NCIS employee within.

But it did seem a pressing matter, something he needed to set right as soon as possible. Because the thing of it was, he'd wronged Nell enough this day, his body making overtures his rational mind just wouldn't allow him to follow through upon. On top of his mercurial behavior towards her, the young woman didn't need the entire office seeing... Well, best not to examine that particular memory at the moment, lest certain problems _arise _once more.

Callen almost cursed aloud. There was someone in ops. But being rather recently intimately entangled with the body in question, he recognized the figure as belonging to Nell Jones. She was sitting at one of the computer terminals, the eerie blue glow of the screen lighting her face in the otherwise dark space. Odd. Nell didn't seem the type to enjoy sitting in the dark. But then, it was probably a concession to the late hour.

"Nell," he said as he approached the young woman who was so intent on whatever she was working on. He thought he could guess what exactly held her rapt attention.

She started despite his attempt not to startle her, jumping slightly in her chair and whipping her head around to identify who called her name.

"Oh! Callen," she said when she found him standing in the dark just a few feet from her.

_'Callen.' _Not '_Agent_ Callen.' Good. Maybe they were still friends. Maybe he hadn't completely ruined their working relationship by lusting after her, accosting her.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, giving him a look that he'd seen a hundred times before. And it was somehow very reassuring. It was her 'Can I help you with something, Agent Callen?' cordial business look. Only, this time he found it slightly disturbing how something inside him stirred in response to meeting those expressive hazel eyes. And upon closer inspection, even in the dim light, he could see the afterglow of the orgasm he'd given her lingering upon her face, coloring her flawless, youthful skin.

_Can I help you with something, Agent Callen?_

He certainly had quite a number of ideas how Nell Jones could help him out at the moment. He shook off the lewd suggestions her look just begged to be answered with and instead replied to her actual inquiry, the one asking him why he'd shown up in ops.

"Same as you, I think. Surveillance video."

Nell nodded, looking slightly relieved, as if his answer had given her permission, as if she felt guilty over messing with the security footage of her own accord.

"I'm almost done altering it," she said, turning back towards the computer. It was probably a subconscious action, but she moved to the side slightly, wordlessly, and automatically invited him to look over her shoulder in doing so, as was their tendency to do when collaborating on something with the computer system.

He watched as on the screen their past selves entered the Boathouse's main room and began to set up their workspace. The image was grainy compared to the imagery produced by the high tech equipment they turned on suspects. For, theoretically, the threat should never be coming from their own agents. But still, maybe he should have a word with Hetty about upgrading their internal CCTV. Then again, he felt more than a little relieved that in the (hopefully) unlikely circumstance anyone stumbled across this video, they wouldn't be seeing him molest Nell in high definition. He took a fortifying breath against the memory that threatened to be relived in such vivid detail as to put IMAX to shame.

The deep inhalation had been a mistake.

Not because it drew Nell's attention to his discomfort (for she was far too focused on the task at hand to realize) but because it drew in a great draught of her scent. It flooded his nasal passages, filled his lungs and weakened his knees ever so slightly.

Callen knew that he'd observed Nell's rather unique scent previously. However, there was quite a difference between his instinctive observing (and filing away data pertaining to the world around him) and actually _noticing. _And today, he'd definitely _noticed_ that Nell Jones smelled of sugar cookies. Sweet but not overwhelmingly so. Just enough of a promise of a delicious experience. Her scent spoke to him, whispered teasingly in his ear, reminded him that when you sampled a sugar cookie, savored it on your tongue, it would melt slowly in your mouth.

_Get a grip on yourself, G._

Ha. Been there. Done that. (A matter of minutes ago, in fact.) And if he wasn't careful, he'd have to do it again. Besides, it really wasn't _himself_ he wanted to get a grip on. Rather, a small yet nicely rounded pair of hips. And then to part a soft pair of thighs... Wait. No. That was backwards. First, he'd part those sweet cream thighs. _Then_ he'd get a good, strong grip on those hips, holding her firmly in place as he penetrated her so deeply and fervently that he wouldn't be able to tell if her cries were ones of delight or fear that he'd rend her completely in two. God help him, he'd probably hurt her in doing so and not even care. Because he had touched her, knew the feel and shape of her, knew she was the tightest little thing he'd ever coveted.

It was ridiculous, really. Callen had learned over the years, that while there was certainly variation in the way women were built, it was not really significant. They all, every last one of them, felt _damn_ good when you were buried to the hilt inside of them. And in sexual encounters, there were other factors than mere physicality at play, factors that made a damn good experience an utterly magnificent one. Hell, his own behavior that very day proved that. Up until that morning, he'd never given Nell Jones a second thought as a woman (even though she'd been in possession of traits he now found immensely alluring all along). But being exposed to a fiery side of her personality he'd never encountered before had him chasing after her tail like it was his reason for being, like he'd die if he didn't get a piece of that _tight_ little body. God, she was just so damn tight. Taking her would probably border on uncomfortable. In Nell's case, '_squeeze'_ seemed an extremely apt term. Oh, but he'd loosen her up well and good. He'd-

_Stop that, G. Callen. Stop that right this very instant._

Mama C? Why the hell would that crazy old biddy of a woman's voice interrupt his mischievous thoughts now? The last time he'd thought of his 16th foster mother had been nearly a decade ago. But it certainly had been the memory of her scolding tone cutting through his fantasies about Nell Jones. He could practically smell the aroma of fresh pesto that seemed to perpetually permeate the woman's clothes, see the grey-streaked black hair and blazing dark eyes. Mama C had undeniably been of Italian descent, kept a strict household and wielded a mean wooden spoon. Callen had learned a lot from that woman, namely how to avoid being caught. True, it'd taken a few severe thumps and spectacular bruises from the evil wooden spoon, but he'd learn the value of stealth.

Well, that flashback had certainly worked. Callen finally found himself capable of focusing on the computer screen before him. He'd missed quite a bit, but it was to the point where something rather _interesting _should have been happening, if he could tell by the time stamp. However, instead of his past self dragging the petite form of his companion up onto the table and proceeding to have his way (but not the whole way) with her, the two coworkers seemed to be passing the time in -if not companionable- not so hostile (or amorous, for that matter) conversation. Shortly, Past Callen rose to his feet and exited. And then Past Nell picked up the files and other research debris before following. Doubtless, this was precisely what she had done after she'd regained her composure. But editing the video so that it showed Callen leaving in a much different manner than he actually had...

"Wow," Callen said. "That's pretty impressive, Nell."

She shrugged. "We got some great software for when we need to… um..."

"Forge?" Callen suggested.

She chuckled lightly, and it did wonders to break the awkward part of the tension between them. However, Nell had always had an attractive laugh, one that lit up her entire face and warmed anyone within range of her merriment. And the person currently within range did not require any further reason to feel attracted to the young woman.

"Yeah, _forge_ some video." She turned back to the screen, reset the time code to the beginning of the sequence and set it to playing at double speed.

"It's not the greatest," she said. "But usually it's reviewed in fast motion anyway."

"It will most certainly pass," Callen said. He was aware of the procedure those tasked with reviewing security footage for the OSP used, that of getting through the data as quickly as possible and only flagging footage if something was glaringly out of the ordinary. What he saw fly by his eyes on the computer screen was entirely ordinary by OSP standards. Just two agents burning the midnight oil (and thanks to Nell's editing, nothing else).

She closed the file, exported it, altered logs, and did whatever other technical mumbo-jumbo she needed to make everything appear kosher, like she'd never touched it, and like he never touched her. At a loss for what else to do, how to proceed, Callen simply continued to watch as she shut down the system.

Standing, taking her bag that she'd slung across the back of the chair, she stood awkwardly in front of him, obviously ready to leave for the night but as confused as he about how to deal with the person they'd just... uh... _crossed a line _with. She began to chew her lip.

_Oh, god. Don't do that, Nell._

The site of her sucking that tender flesh into her mouth... He wanted to grab her and pull her close and kiss that fretful mouth until she was gasping for air. Worse, he wanted to push her to the floor and really have his way with her.

_Ouch!_

The blow from a certain spectral wooden spoon had felt almost real and brought him harshly back to the moment, back to his responsibilities, away from the dirty, troublesome fantasies.

"We should probably talk," Nell said, thankfully releasing the abused and now sensuously swollen bottom lip. She looked less pleased than he felt over the prospect of discussing emotions at 2am after what had been a very long day.

"Yeah," Callen said.

"Can it wait until later?"

"If you think it can."

Nell nodded, smiled. It didn't seem entirely in character for the young woman to let such social unease continue to simmer. And yet it also seemed completely in character for her to accept life's obstacles and surprises and deal with them on her own terms. If one didn't know her too well, they'd have assumed she would be awkward and timid, would logically be extremely ashamed and embarrassed by what had happened between the pair of them that day. But they would be neglecting to notice that there was a certain confidence and strength to Nell Jones. A confidence evident in that oddly sultry smile.

"Good night, Callen," she said. Her hand flitted across his chest, leaving a tingling wake behind it as she passed by him and was gone.

Suddenly, it wasn't just the thought of placing his hands on Nell Jones that was storming through his brain and taking no prisoners. It was the tantalizing thought of _her_ hands laid upon his person that had him gritting his teeth and determinedly headed home... alone.

* * *

**A/N: Tut-tut, Naughty Callen. Now look at what you've started…**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Since I'd gotten a few chapters of this written over vacation, I decided to be nice and not tease you too long between updates. Not sure why, but Sam just had to have his say… So a little break in the Nell-Callen tension/smut for Callen to get his head on straight.**

* * *

"What's eating you, G?"

Callen blinked his eyes, containing his startle response just barely as the big former seal's voice cut through the quiet that had befell the inside of the Dodge Challenger. Normally, he'd be the one to break the silence first, finding some random subject with which to harass his partner. Obviously, though, Sam Hanna had picked up on the contemplative nature of his partner.

Callen just shrugged, unwrapped a tootsie pop and stuck it in his mouth, handing the wrapper to Sam to be folded into some other creature to join this stakeout's menagerie residing upon the dashboard.

"Okay. Now you're really scaring your partner," Sam said, accepting the small square of candy wrapper and beginning to fold it. Callen noted the man didn't remove his eyes from the senior field agent as he worked on the origami figure. "This is reticent, even for you."

"_Reticent_?" Callen attempted some normal teasing. "New 'word a day' calendar?"

Sam didn't bite, offering absolutely no response to the provocation.

Callen sighed, knowing he wouldn't be able to get away with avoiding the topic bothering him. That didn't mean he was going to tell Sam _everything_, however.

"Have you ever met a woman that you're just inexplicably attracted to?" Callen asked. "I mean really drawn to her, with an intensity that makes you feel like you've just gone insane?"

Sam laughed.

"Yeah," he said.

"Really?" This piqued Callen's interest. Maybe he shouldn't have been avoiding talking to his partner for the last three hours of their stakeout. Maybe Sam Hanna had the advice he needed. Maybe he knew what Callen should do about this _thing_ with Nell.

"So... what did you do about it?" he asked, trying to appear more nonchalant than he felt.

"I married her," Sam said.

Or not.

"Sounds like you're in love, G. When did this happen?"

Love?! What? No.

"Not hardly, Sam," Callen said. "Try 'lust'. And it happened rather suddenly. I just can't stop thinking about her."

He really couldn't.

"Where'd you meet this irresistible woman?" Sam was smiling, a hint of laughter in his voice. The man was finding this all just a bit too amusing for Callen's liking. Sam would likely shut that down fast if he knew which specific woman it was that had driven Callen to distraction with contemplations of her tantalizing self.

"I've known her for a while, but was never attracted to her before. And never like this to anyone..." How much should he reveal to his best friend in the world? He trusted Sam with his life, but they had never quite approached relationships the same way, and Callen wasn't likely to heed his partner's advice even though he valued his insight. But this _thing _with Nell was uncharted waters, and he could definitely use a compass. Or even vague directional heading. On the other hand, he knew the only route it could take.

"And it can't go anywhere," Callen said.

"Hmm..." Sam shook his head but didn't laugh, obviously attempting to give G's situation some real thought despite how diverting it was to him.

"Sounds as if you're actually interested in having a real relationship with this woman," Sam said.

Callen shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"No," he said. "And she's not the kind of girl who would be into a casual fling, I don't think."

"How you know if you don't ask? She obviously must have given you some sort of encouragement for you to be droolin' over her like you are. She might just be interested in something different than she's used to."

_Thanks a lot, Sam. _As if the suggestion had given him permission, now Callen was already constructing scenarios in his mind, ways to pass some very naughty nights with Nell. In fact, that was the title of a new folder in his mind, 'Naughty Nights with Nell.' It sounded like a 2am call-in radio show with the sole purpose of entertaining lonely insomniacs. Being of that precise demographic, Callen would sure as hell tune in to that. _Naughty Nights with Nell_. He'd be a personal backer of that program. Except,

"It wouldn't be appropriate."

_Really? You've already gone way past appropriate. Idiot._

Sam's eyes narrowed, studying his partner briefly but intensely. Callen put on as bland an expression as possible, given that topics for discussion on _Naughty Nights with Nell _were still rapidly being generated by and taking over his higher brain functions. Sam placed a... bird of some sort? on the dashboard beside the jumping frog. And then Callen received the full force of the intense ex-seal's stare.

"Who is it, G?"

Callen didn't bother trying to lie. Sam would know. Sometimes, with certain things, he could get a lie of omission or outright untruth by his partner. But this whole Nell situation had sprung up basically overnight, coming from nowhere and blind-siding the veteran undercover agent. And Callen knew he was having a difficult time marshalling his feelings where Nell was concerned. There was certain altered video footage to attest to that. And so instead of answering his partner or lying to him, Callen chose to stare out the window instead.

"Really? You're going to be like that?" Something in Sam's voice had changed. This was no longer a point with which to tease Callen, apparently. Sam had obviously recognized the gravity with which this problem was weighing on his partner's mind.

"I don't want to talk about it anymore," Callen said, laying on the warning thick in his tone. Unfortunately, it did nothing to deter the man who was undeniably _the_ best friend Callen had ever had.

"Hmph."

Callen waited, hoping Sam would drop the issue, but also knew better than to expect any such occurrence.

"So it's someone I know," Sam said after less than a minute's contemplation. "Because you said it's a woman you've known for a while. And you don't know anyone outside of work well enough to be this messed up by them. And... _it wouldn't be appropriate._"

Callen tried to play it casual, but his heart rate quickened as he listened to his partner's logical progression as it approached the truth of the matter.

"And you're not exactly the 'plays well with others' type. So the options are limited." Sam mused for a moment, and then turned alarmed eyes upon Callen. "It's not Kensi, is it?!"

Callen cringed involuntarily. He couldn't help it. Kensi Blye was a beautiful woman. Tough, loyal, a good agent and a good friend. But even Sam knew, and it was apparent on his face, that Callen thought of the female agent as the sister he'd never known. It had happened gradually, so that he never actively thought of Kensi in the context of 'sister' but it was undeniably the role the woman filled in his messed up existence. The thought of being romantically involved with her struck Callen as inherently wrong (despite the fact that they could pull off 'couple' undercover when called upon - they _were_ both professionals, after all).

"Not possible," Sam said, shaking his head and smiling at the ridiculousness of his suggestion. He laughed a little and smiled more broadly. "Guess that leaves our little intelligence analyst. Because I don't think you've had more than a single conversation with any of the..."

Sam trailed off, doubtless because he'd seen the expression on Callen's face, for it had been one the highly trained agent just couldn't hide.

"No," Sam said. "No. Not Nell?"

Callen nodded silently in the affirmative, beginning to feel ashamed of himself. Up until the previous day, it had been quite a long time since the tough, detached bastard he was had been capable of feeling embarrassment. Generally, his decision-making process was solid, and even when he was wrong he simply rolled with the punches, accepted the consequences. Feeling ashamed was counterproductive, and any hardened survivor would reject the crippling emotion. But besides Hetty, Sam was the only one whose disapproval could cut Callen in such a way.

There was a long moment of silence. It really was probably just a second or two, but it felt like forever to Callen as he awaited his partner's reaction.

"Wow," Sam said. Callen dared to look at him and found an incredulous smile plastered across Sam Hanna's face. "Nell Jones, really?"

"Yup." Callen couldn't help but grin in response, whether from relief that Sam hadn't turned cold and disapproving or from the realization of how utterly ridiculous his situation was. After all, he was behaving like a teenager with a unrequited crush. Except it hadn't been nearly as harmless so far, and just maybe wasn't unrequited at all...

Sam had begun to nod his head slowly.

"I guess I can see it," he said. "You do fall for the intelligent ones. Petite... Feisty..."

Sam was describing Tracy, as well as Nell. And the fact the comparison had also occurred to his friend was more than a little unsettling. Thankfully, he abandoned it there. But really, the similarities didn't go much further... at least Callen hoped not.

"I thought you two were…uh… in the middle of a disagreement." Sam gave him a questioning look. Callen shrugged. So yeah, he'd found Pissed Off Nell to be incredibly hot. Sam laughed, the whole partner telepathy thing kicking in. "That's messed up, G."

"You're always saying I'm not normal."

"Does she know?" Sam asked.

"That I'm not normal?" Callen asked, knowing his friend was referring to something else but not willing to give him an easy time when he himself was struggling so much with the issue at hand. "It's pretty obvious, isn't it?"

"No. You know that's not what I meant." And now Sam didn't seem so amused anymore. "Does she know you've got it this bad for her?"

"If she doesn't, then she definitely has no business being an intelligence analyst," Callen said, hoping the comment would suffice as explanation enough. Unfortunately, the inquiring look -one threatening to turn interrogatory- on Sam's face did not fade. Rather, the ex-seal raised an eyebrow over the answer.

Callen did not answer the call for further explanation.

"What did you do?"

Now this was more of the reaction Callen had originally expected. And it was uncomfortable territory. He didn't want to harm Nell any more than he might have already emotionally damaged her, and talking to others about how he'd shamed her certainly would do that. Except, this was Sam. And if anyone could be trusted to keep a secret, it was the stalwart Agent Hanna.

"Yesterday morning, I ran into Nell on the way to the operation briefing."

_Or more accurately, I ran her down and manhandled her a bit._

"We had a little spat over protocol."

_In other words, I got really angry at her for no reason._

"And then I kissed her."

_With my tongue._

"What did she do?" Sam asked, leaning slightly toward his partner now that the topic of conversation had taken a more sensational turn. Callen laughed.

"She ran away."

"Well, guess you know how she feels about the prospect of getting involved with you, G."

"Guess so." Callen was content to let it drop at that. And with any other person than Sam Hanna, they would've probably let it be. Well, any other person in the world besides Sam Hanna and Henrietta Lange. They were the only two who possessed a genuine interest in, and concern for, Callen's life. And they were the only two people he could tolerate meddling in his affairs.

"It didn't end there, though, did it?" Sam asked. Callen shook his head, again feeling an unbidden wave of shame overcome him. When he met Sam's eyes, there was that seriousness the ex-seal displayed when tracking down suspects. This could be bad.

"Do I need to get all 'big brother protecting his younger sister's virtue' on your ass?"

"I don't know, Sam. Do you?" Callen asked, trying to turn the significance of the question onto how protective of Nell Jones the agent felt.

"God, G. Please tell me you didn't have sex with her."

"Because that would've been a mistake?" Callen was legitimately interested in what his partner's answer would be. Because, frankly, he was too cock-blind to analyze the situation properly.

Unfortunately, for once, Callen was having a difficult time reading his partner. Sam Hanna was a strong man, emotionally as well as physically, but he still tended to wear his heart on his sleeve. And with someone he considered a friend, the man rarely bothered to hide his emotions or opinions. Callen could only pin it down to a sense of confusion, that Sam hadn't made up his mind how he felt about the idea of Callen and Nell.

"So you two are...?" Sam shook his head. "I don't get it. You're incapable of having the type of relationship someone like Nell would want."

Callen nodded and laughed ironically.

"We aren't exactly in any type of relationship. Just dancing around this... this _thing._"

"Now you sound like Kensi and Deeks." Sam sighed. "Why has my workplace turned into the set of _The Young and the Restless_?"

Callen gave Sam a blank stare.

"It's a soap opera, which I seem to have a front and center season pass to. First, Kensi falls for her partner, which she can't seem to admit. And neither can he. So they play this annoying game of denial and flirtation that's enough to drive a saint into a murderous rampage. Then my own partner gets in this huge tiff over a pointless operation scenario with a sweet young woman, whom he proceeds to develop some sort of insane need to bed. And he's likely acted upon the attraction. And probably in the very office we all work in. But I don't want to know the details!"

His partner's tirade seemed to be wrapping up and Callen opened his mouth to protest the summation of his behavior but Sam cut him off.

"Unless you did it on my desk. In which case, I'd like to know if I need to put in a request for a new one. Because I ain't using no dirty sex desk."

Callen laughed well and truly, finally feeling the apprehension leave him. And Sam joined him. His partner's ridiculous overreaction clarified to Callen how silly he was being, how stupidly juvenile the social games they were playing actually were. They were adults, for god's sake!

Callen wanted her, despite having a rule about getting involved with women in law enforcement, which Nell technically was, and a coworker to boot. His instincts and primal self didn't seem to be following any rules, and were misbehaving to an unmanageable degree. His attraction to the petite analyst was not going to just go away, and had already proven to be the sort of distraction the Rules were meant to avoid. In short, Callen wanted to have sex with Nell Jones. And the only reasons not to do precisely that had already been violated (along with any boundaries there'd been between the two NCIS agents).

There was only Nell herself to consider, his fear of hurting her, his perpetual fear of hurting those around him.

But she was an intelligent woman, capable of making her own decisions. Why not just lay it all out before her and give her the choice? He could offer her a potentially enjoyable romp for a set period of time, but nothing more than that. If amenable, she could accept his proposition. Or not. End of story. End of problem. End of crazy, awkward tension. And hopefully end of random outbursts of lewd behavior at work.

Done and done. (_Thanks, Sam._)

Back to watching their gun smuggling suspect perform banal activities...

* * *

**A/N: Don't worry, back to the smut shortly (that is, if Nell is amenable to Callen's proposal)… Callen just had to get over himself a little bit (for he is a deliciously damaged character with trust, abandonment and intimacy issues and I don't think he would drop the rules that he'd adopted to stabilize his life without justification… or freaking out).**


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Happy Friday! **

**I think I've definitely strayed from the in-character path, but it was always a non-canon journey, anyway… And who could resist playing with Nell and Callen (I swear fan fiction is like grown-up playing with dolls… And on that disturbing note…) Enjoy!**

**WARNING: Smutty smut smut…**

* * *

"We probably shouldn't be doing this," Callen said half-heartedly. Undeniably, it was likely a terrible idea, but he wasn't really doing much thinking at the moment.

"You're probably right." Nell laughed and shoved him back, so that he was forced to sit abruptly down on the bench. And then she slipped deftly into his lap, straddling him so that they were suddenly very close indeed. She pulled him into a kiss.

Yes, making out in the women's locker room at the OSP's Los Angeles headquarters was definitely something they shouldn't be doing. But there was no one around at this late hour... It wasn't a large space, just a couple rows of lockers, the bench they were sitting upon, and at the other end, a couple of shower and toilet stalls with sinks and vanity. They'd locked the door behind them, and the connecting door to the gym appeared to be closed. It was certainly empty, as was the rest of the building.

Besides, they had reason to celebrate.

They'd finally completed that damnable report. Nell was an absolute genius. Neither of them were the type to do a half-assed job, hence their stubborn attitudes had set them at each other's throats (and other soft tissues). But ultimately, there really was no other solution (if their working relationship or they themselves were to survive) but to do as most bureaucrats did; pawn the responsibility off on someone else. They'd outlined both scenarios, the pros and cons thereof and sent the report off for someone else to agonize over (all the while suffering the worse case of fidgeting and bedroom eyes Callen had ever heard of, for they'd both knew, _just knew _what would happen as soon as they'd finished their work). And thus their reconciliation had come about.

_Reconciliation, plus some, _Callen mused as Nell wiggled her hips and sent a wave of pleasure shuddering through him. Oh, hell, did he _ever_ want her. But-

"I mean besides the fact of breaking protocol by messing around on the premises," he said, holding her away from him slightly to stop her extremely curious hands and mouth from exploring. "I can't give you anything more-"

"More than sex?" Nell finished his thought, surprising Callen somewhat. She leaned closer, whispered, "Everyone knows about G. Callen's six week rule.

"No love. No broken hearts."

Callen felt a quick pang in his chest. He didn't care that apparently the entire office knew about his relationship rules. In fact, Nell being aware of his nature yet still coming onto him strongly was reassuring, that maybe no one would get hurt in this thing. However, the fact that Nell seemed to know what lay at the core of such rules, that she could read him so well... it somehow stung. He'd have to be careful not to let her too close. If he were wise, he'd call this whole thing off now. But his body yearned for something it insisted only Nell Jones could give him.

She looked up at him, big hazel eyes full of understanding with a spark of desire and a hint of mischief.

"It's okay," she said, jerking her chin up in the wordless 'hey, bro, I recognize that you're awesome because I'm awesome myself' nod. _Copasetic, dude. _

"I'm cool." _Wasn't she just?_

He took her face in his hands and smiled.

"Okay, then," he said. "Nell Jones is _cool_."

He kissed her soundly and felt her hands slide up under his shirt, fingernails biting ever so slightly at his skin as she ran her hands over his torso. He'd been mistaken. Nell was burning like a flaring ember and setting him ablaze.

"Mm... Not so cool," he said. Her hands stopped their exploration as she pinned him with a look. He stroked her back, enjoying the warmth of her that emanated through the soft fabric of her dress. "Far too _hot _to ever be called _cool_."

She laughed.

"Nice line, Casanova. I thought you were supposed to be smooth."

Whether Nell intended it or not, Callen picked up a hint of challenge in the tease. And responded to it because he just couldn't help himself, and testing Nell's boundaries in this new context was beyond interesting.

"Oh, I can show you smooth, little Nell Jones," he whispered. "I could have you on your back and out of your panties before you could even squeal in protest."

"I don't squeal."

Quickly leaning in, Callen licked the hollow directly behind her left ear. A high-pitched noise of surprise escaped her throat. He smiled smugly as she glared at him.

"What do you say?" His hand slipped under the fabric of her dress that was bunched up at her hips as he whispered huskily into her ear once more. "Do you want me to show you how smooth I can be?"

He squeezed her surprisingly full little bottom and she whimpered. He kissed her breathless. Let one of his hands wander up the contour of her back. Pulled her tighter to him so that he felt her pert, round breasts compress against his chest. The nipples were stiff peaks that -_oh!_

Callen loosened his grip upon the petite woman in his arms so that he could study the superior, self-satisfied grin on her face.

"You're not the only smooth one," she said.

And then she squeezed.

Callen gasped. How had she gotten those... oh, god... those glorious... _devilish_... little hands into his pants without his noticing? And she hadn't just worked them past the waistband of his jeans. She'd managed to undo the fastener and free him of his clothing. And now she was stroking him with a maddeningly slow dance of her fingers.

When he said her name, it was more growl than coherent speech. And she silenced any further comment on his part by placing a kiss on his lips. Then with a wink, she was slipping out of his lap and onto her knees before him and... Oh, god, she wasn't going to... He was transfixed by her lips made red, moist and swollen from his kissing them as they first pursed and then parted to -_oh, fuck!_

His instinct was to tangle his hands in her hair, his hips begging to thrust into her ministrations. But he reigned in his urge to dominate the young woman who... _jesus, Nell!_... who obviously knew what she was doing. A death grip on the edge of the bench prevented his alpha male from asserting itself and wresting control of the encounter away from her. But if she didn't stop torturing him soon, bringing him to the brink and then pulling away only to slowly work him towards release once more, he couldn't be held responsible for his actions. He briefly thought about tearing Nell away from her task, bending her over the wooden bench and pounding her relentlessly from behind. But any thought was quickly driven from his mind as she coaxed him to the brink once more.

"Please, god, Nell!"

Callen had never had to beg a woman for sexual release before. Generally, he was on the other end of the teasing encounter. And even when he'd been in a similar position as he was currently with Nell, they'd never withheld like this, toyed with him. But he had to admit he rather liked it, as she finally pushed him over the edge and then he was no longer capable of any coherent thought for the overwhelming explosion of pleasure.

When she returned from washing up, Callen lay -still breathing heavily- on the wooden bench, thinking that he was fairly certain he had cried out Nell's name as he climaxed. He wasn't able to give it much contemplation, however, for the young woman mounted his supine form, placing her hands upon his chest and leaning forward to smile and meet his eyes with her gorgeous hazel ones (the largest, most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen, if you asked him). He returned her smile, reached up and brushed a stray lock of auburn hair from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. She bent down and delicately pressed her lips against his. When he opened his mouth, she responded in kind and their kiss deepened, yet remained tender and slow. It wasn't quite as insanely fervent as before, but he still felt a need in it, _in her_. Not to mention the way her body pressed against his, her hips grinding against him in what would be a severely arousing manner had he been in any immediate condition to respond.

"Will you do something for me?" she asked.

"Name it," he said, hoping it wouldn't be to fuck her brains out that moment, because he really wasn't up to that task. Give him a little while longer to recover, maybe then...

"I need you to touch me," Nell said, her cheeks coloring slightly. Really? She'd just done _that_ to him and she was embarrassed to request a little reciprocation? He supposed it was no surprise that Nell's nature was that of a giver.

"Are you sure?" he asked, unable to resist teasing her, for it was in his nature and the very core of their interactions. Her cheeks flushed bright pink and she tried to get up. He grabbed her waist and held her fast.

"Hey, Nell, I'm sorry. I was just teasing you. If you remember, I actually have a problem keeping my hands off from you."

And that was the absolute truth.

She smiled shyly, doubtless remembering the last time he'd touched her. His curiosity became piqued as he wondered how'd she respond this time, if she would make the same intriguing whimpering and purring sounds, call out his name or come in silent quivering shudders.

A short time later, he discovered her outcries manifested as incoherent moans when he pleasured her upon the tile floor.

"That takes care of you, I think," he said, gingerly stroking her cheek with his thumb, and then proceeding to trace a line across her lips as she struggled to breathe normally.

"I'd agree with that assessment."

Callen smiled. He quite enjoyed her dry wit. And her large, round hazel eyes. And her soft lips. And alabaster skin. Especially when it was flush with arousal. He enjoyed the feel of her curves beneath his hands. And the feel of her petite figure beneath his body. The tantalizingly, subtly sweet scent of her skin. And the impressive variety of noises she made when he touched her. And,

"I think I'll need some attention myself again. Soon."

Her lips twitched as she combated a smile.

"My place or yours?" she asked.

"If you're partial to having sex in a bed, then yours," he said.

"We haven't tried that yet."

Callen wasn't sure if she were referring to the 'sex' or the 'bed', but for his part, he was looking forward to taking her, fully and completely. He gave her another couple of minutes to recover, in which he caressed her gently, imagining what her naked body would look like. He had already touched a lot of her flesh, which was wonderful, but he'd _seen _very little, pressed his lips to even less, and tasted only a very minute percentage of her skin. A craving was rapidly growing in him, to possess her, every part of her.

"Ready to get out of here?" he asked. Nell nodded with a poignantly lascivious expression on her face.

With some degree of effort, they managed to haul themselves to their feet and stagger out of the locker room, still touching and stealing kisses as they progressed. And having an all around pleasant time. That was until Callen heard something to chill his blood.

"Mr. Callen. Miss Jones."

The pair in question stopped in their tracks, hastily pulling away from one another as Henrietta Lange appeared before them. Callen was pretty certain he heard Nell whimper, and not in the pleased or aroused way he'd heard before. It was hard to say for sure, since his heart had become very loud as it pounded in his ears.

Busted.

"And what are you two doing here at this hour?" the old spy asked.

"Could ask the same of you, Hetty." Callen attempted to counter the inquiry nonchalantly. Perhaps not wise to play a game against the master, but his protective instincts automatically took over, turning him into the smooth talking undercover agent once more (or at least he'd try to be). He didn't look at Nell, but he hoped she wasn't blushing too horribly. Doubtless, those gorgeous eyes of hers were round as saucers at being caught canoodling with the senior agent in charge of her team.

Hetty squashed his counterattack with only a look. One that said 'I'm your superior and I don't have to answer to you', which of course was completely true.

Callen cleared his throat.

"Nell and I wanted to work on that report for Homeland, which we finally managed to finish."

Hetty appeared to scrutinize them for a moment, and he desperately tried not to fidget like a small boy who'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Sugar Cookies...

_Okay, shut that train of thought down before it even leaves the station, because Hetty can see through you like you're nothing but a pane of window glass._

Finally, the veteran agent nodded her head.

"Good work, you two," She said, and then after a beat, added, "On finishing the report."

Callen barely suppressed a sigh, feeling relieved despite the presence of the unnecessary, loaded clarification. _On finishing the report. _Because that wasn't all they'd been up to that night…

It was hard to believe that leaving could've been any more pressing than when he was fixated by thoughts of bedding the delicious young woman at his side. But he suddenly felt the need to be somewhere, anywhere else than under Hetty's perceptive gaze as soon as possible. He put his hand at the small of Nell's back and urged her forward when his boss' clear, even tone cut through the dead silence at his retreating back.

"Just please try to restrict the coital activities to off the premises and off the clock, Mr. Callen, Miss Jones."

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**A/N: I'm sorry. I know I took it too far, but I just couldn't resist. Let's call it temporary insanity (on my part and the characters…). I think I've pointed out how unusually out of control this whole thing is for Callen. What's Nell's excuse? (Besides the utter deliciousness of an aroused Callen) I think we'll deal with that later, perhaps in a separate fic since I'm sticking with Callen for the duration of this one.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: This bit seems longer than I had wanted a chapter to be, but cutting it at the natural breaking point I encountered made the first bit far too short for a chapter. So all at once…**

**WARNING: Smut?…**

* * *

Oh. God. Hetty had heard Callen and Nell messing around in the locker room. Or... _seen... _It was like being walked in on by your mother. At least, that's what he imagined such an awkward situation would feel like. But never really having anything of the motherly sort (until, if he were honest, Hetty herself) Callen wouldn't really know. Yet it wasn't entirely bad, was it? Hetty hadn't given them a disapproving glare, said anything truly admonishing. Then again, he might just be looking forward to a lecture when he came into work the following day.

Nell was particularly quiet as they finally escaped the old mission building, and Callen began to think that however embarrassed and exposed he felt, his young companion likely felt far worse. His heart was primarily scar tissue, tough and inured to social criticism. And while Nell was no wuss, she was basically innocent (although he questioned just how much considering some of the things she'd done to him in the past few days) possessing a soft, compassionate heart. He was a seasoned agent with a reputation that was practically legend. And despite having settled in rather nicely at the OSP, he knew Nell was still striving to prove herself. He didn't think Hetty would lose respect for Nell because of the young woman's choice in sexual partners, but he also knew how important Hetty's opinion was to Nell. Not that he didn't value, respect and adore the old spy... it was just that his friendship with Hetty had already been shaped, was solid and immutable while Nell's was still forming, delicate and vulnerable in its malleable state.

Funny that. In many ways, Nell Jones was his antithesis, his precise, complementary opposite. The old saying did go 'opposites attract.' Maybe that was why when they'd found themselves blatantly on opposing ends of an argument, they'd been polarized like a pair of powerful magnets and came crashing together. And it was going to take a hell of a lot to pry him off from her. Except,

"Are you still interested in having company tonight?"

"If I go home alone, I'll only spend the whole night worrying about what Hetty must be thinking of me, of_ us_," Nell said as they paused beside her car. "I'm so embarrassed."

Taking her gently by the arm, he turned her to face him and cupped her cheek in his hand. Her skin was so soft he still couldn't quite believe the silken texture really belonged to her body.

"I'm sorry, Nell. This whole situation is my fault."

She leaned into his caress.

"It takes two to tango," she said, freeing him from some of the guilt over embarrassing the intelligence analyst in front of their boss. Apparently, he was forgiven. For Nell turned to place a kiss on the palm of his hand and said, "And I don't know about you, but I'm ready for a full dance lesson."

She turned her big eyes (filled with mingled lust and laughter) on him, a matching teasing smile twitching her lips.

"Care to show me some of your moves, Callen?"

He leaned into her, pushing her back against the cute little vintage Willys jeep and smiling all the while. Oh, he had trapped his facetious pixie and was enjoying it immensely.

"Maybe you should call me 'G'." Nell raised her eyebrows at the uncharacteristically open gesture. "At least when we're not at work."

Nell's brow furrowed a bit as she appeared to consider his suggestion. She looked up at him after a moment.

"You've always been 'Callen' to me," she said. "But I can give it a try,... G."

He wasn't sure whether he liked the sound of it on her lips. Really, Sam was the only one in his life that called him by his pathetically monosyllabic excuse for a first name. But he supposed that it was more intimate than having her call out his surname mid-coitus, and perhaps a good way to delineate their working and personal relationships.

"Thanks, _pixie._" He really couldn't help himself.

"_Pixie?_" she asked, her eyes narrowing. He ruffled her hair in response.

"Yup," he said. "Fiery, mischievous..."

"Little?"

Ooh, there was a dangerous edge to Nell now, the same one that had drawn him to her in the first place.

"Yes."

Before she could respond with a scathing comment or physical violence, Callen pulled her into a tight hug, wrapping his arms completely around her upper body and lifting her off her feet to crush her against his chest. He felt her struggle then relax into his smothering embrace before he released her to stand panting before him once more, disheveled and irate looking.

"It's a good thing," Callen said, giving her his most charming, crooked smile. "I like it."

Did he ever! Particularly that damned Alpha Male in him, the one that found it rather appealing how easy it would be to physically dominate the petite woman. But she_ was _a fighter. And that could be interesting, too...

"You're going to pay for that," Nell said, not looking as irate as someone usually did when uttering that phrase. She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him down to her for a searing kiss that left him more breathless than his explanatory hug had left her.

"I'm okay with that, _pixie._"

"Good. Because you're coming home with me, _G_."

Okay, he took it back. He did like to hear his initial on her lips. For she had imbued the syllable with such meaning and power. Mingled within that single sound there was her flared temper, her affection, her humor, her doubt and her arousal. It was a siren's song.

...

As he followed the little vintage jeep through the streets of Los Angeles in his jaguar, Callen pondered how truly random and strange the universe was.

Oh, there was no need to actually follow her, for he knew where Nell Jones lived, and more than just the 'I have the addresses of everyone on my team memorized' level. He knew she lived in the right most (viewing the building from the street) apartment on the second floor of a nice little brick building built sometime around the turn of the last century, judging by the architecture. How he knew was that he'd driven by the place before late at night, which sounded rather creepy. But he knew in the same way he knew where Sam and his family lived, where Kensi, Eric, and even Deeks resided. Oh, how he'd like to check up on Hetty, too, during his insomniac protector jaunts, but the old spy was crafty, was never anywhere he expected her to be, and would always know when he was about. But that was all something Nell didn't need to know. His deep-seated compulsion to know that his team-mates, his friends, the closest thing to family he'd ever had, were safe wasn't something he shared with said friends, and was certainly something _far_ too personal and revealing to be shared with sexual partners.

Only... With Nell, this wasn't going to be what he'd grown accustomed to, what he preferred in such encounters, was it?

He thought he'd figured out how to live. Definitely not 'the meaning of life' or anything. Just how he could function in the world as a loner with... well, with a hero complex. But he couldn't save everyone (and any amount of lives he preserved would never erase the loss of his family he suffered as a child). And he knew that. He was just another human being, like any other, one that craved human interaction and socialization despite his desperate attempt to shield his emotionally crippled soul. And he truly thought that seeing to his physical needs was enough, but his body had begun to crave more, and Nell Jones... she was the perfect solution.

He could have a lover for a time, not just finding release with a stranger when his body ached with need. Without any strings, without any hurt feelings, but with an intimacy he'd deprived himself of for a long while. It was going to be difficult to hold Nell close yet keep her out at the same time, for she hadn't fooled him with her 'sweet' act. Well, she _was_ sweet. But also, _clever_.

Oh, to hear his real name (well, part of a name, but all he really had in the world) on the lips of the woman in his arms! And not just any woman, a spirited, beautiful pixie. Such a beauty, too, with smooth, soft skin, big bright eyes, and a slender, vivacious body. How had he not noticed before? Hell, he _must _have noticed. Checked her out when they first met, as guys undeniably did, but the young intelligence analyst was so off-limits he'd never let it be processed any further than that. Besides, Eric was blatantly in love with her.

Oh, shit.

That was a complication that in all of his recent lusting for the young woman he had not permitted himself to consider. _Had Nell?_

Was it even any of his business?

Whatever was between Nell and Eric was their concern. If she chose to invite Callen into her bed, that was her decision. She didn't seem the type to make commitments to one man during the day and have sexual dalliances with another at night. So he could only assume the infatuation was one-sided between the techs. Or not physical… Or just plain complicated. Because she had chosen him, G. Callen, to follow her home...

Nell seemed nervous as she gave him a tour of the apartment, the place that she had blatantly made her home. It wasn't awkwardly tiny, but wasn't opulently large, either. Just perfect. Some places were obviously too small for their occupants, looking cluttered and in disarray simply because the space could not contain all of their stuff. Callen was not one for material possessions (besides his fondness for cars), but he could understand the importance of objects to people. And he could see Nell in the organized collection of utilitarian and sentimental possessions that filled but didn't overwhelm her little apartment. Most noticeable to Callen, perhaps because it was always what he secretly coveted most and was drawn to first upon entering another person's home, were the photos. Almost every flat service sported a framed photograph of family or friends, and he smiled at that. Nell Jones was undeniably sweet. She was loved by others. And she loved them. And there was something immensely attractive about that to a man who had grown up without that sort of bond in his life.

Her bedroom was simply decorated, despite what someone might expect from her often very feminine style of dress. Besides the precisely made up bed (nearly to military standards that Sam would doubtless approve of), there was a dresser and night stand made of a beautiful stained cherry (Callen had definitely spent too much time hanging out in Gibbs' basement considering he could now identify lumber types), which he doubted could contain all of the little pixie's wardrobe and shoes (it took a lot of different kinds of heels to minimize the crick in her neck she doubtless received staring up at her coworkers constantly). So there must be a closet behind that mirror. There were large windows along one wall, cleanly draped with cream-colored curtains, and a door that led to the en suite opposite them.

Once he'd done his quick assessment of the space, but a few seconds worth of observation, he turned his attention to Nell Jones, who was standing in the middle of the room looking like a girl waiting for her prom date to show up; simultaneously apprehensive and excited. Perhaps, she hadn't wanted to show him her home in such thorough detail, taking him through the kitchen and living room, bath, noting all the windows and exits for him. But it showed she _knew_ him rather well, that she was aware he wouldn't feel truly comfortable in the space unless he was completely familiar with its layout. He hadn't been with someone who could anticipate his needs in quite a long time.

_This was going to be interesting..._

Callen stepped in close, taking Nell's face in his hands and making her look up at him.

"Nervous?" he asked.

She nodded her head.

"Me, too." Her expression changed to shock briefly, before she smiled and the tension seemed to ease out of her slightly.

"Change your mind?" If she only was going through with this because she'd felt pressured into it by his rather forward behavior, Callen would never forgive himself. He was only there because she had been the one that had come on to him so strongly that evening, had shown that she understood what it would mean if they were to be together, the only way it could be with him.

"No." Nell was firm in her answer, and then looked uncertain. "I just... I always question whether I really want to... to have sex right before."

Callen raised an eyebrow. "We've already-"

"I know, I know," Nell said, pulling away from him slightly and blushing hard. "That was..._good_,_ really _good... But it's not the same as..." She looked away for a moment, and then turned big eyes that seemed to implore him to understand.

And he did understand, to a degree, because they might be very different people on the surface but they shared at least one major personality trait. Nell was as much as a control freak as he was.

"It's not easy to let someone get that close, to give up so much control," he said quietly. Callen had learned over the years to separate his emotional self from the sexual act, but he doubted Nell had much, if any experience doing so. At least he hoped she had never had cause to close herself off from the world like he had.

She was nodding, though, so he knew he was on the right track.

"I don't want to hurt you, Nell. Not ever," he said, because another thought occurred to him. She might be anxious about the physical act itself, because she was rather a petitely built woman... in _every_ sense. "We don't have to do anything you don't want."

"I_ want_ you," she said in a voice that had him pulling her close and kissing her soundly. He tried to keep it soft, to show her that he could be gentle, but the taste of her, the feel of her small supple body beneath his hands... the embrace quickly turned heated.

The fabric of her dress was soft as it shifted beneath his palms. That _damn_ dress. It had rendered him completely catatonic for several seconds upon first seeing her that morning. It wasn't anything considered sexy or alluring by common social convention. But it was _the _perfect thing to entice him, had him flashing back to his early twenties when he'd first realized his knack for charming the ladies. One girl in particular had favored the exact grunge style of dress Nell currently sported, a navy shirt dress with small floral print and pearl buttons up the front. There was something always so damn sexy about those dresses, despite the fact that they never revealed vast expanses of skin. Except for a good bit of leg. On Nell, however, the hem fell closer to her knee than mid-thigh. Callen credited the fabric itself for the appeal, how the lightweight rayon clung to curves, a much more subtle sexiness than bared midriffs or plunging necklines. Upon seeing Nell in that vintage (when had his youth become 'vintage'?) dress, at least a dozen scenarios concerning Nell and that teasing garment had run through his mind.

And now, now he had her and that dress all to himself.

Reminding himself that he had all night and there was no need to rush, Callen slowly undid the buttons of her dress one by one, beginning at her collarbone and working his way downward, all the while stealing tastes of her lips. When he'd succeeded in unfastening her dress, he pulled it open, stepping back to admire its contents.

Mm- was Nell gorgeous. Her alabaster skin flawless, her body sporting feminine curves despite her small stature. Also unexpected were shapely, slender legs, which gave the illusion of length they didn't have. Best of all was her choice in undergarments. He smiled broadly as he met her gaze once more. She gave him a look just challenging him to make a snide comment about her underwear.

He had none. He loved the matching teal bra and panties with large pink polka dots. Likely if he were to tell someone Nell wore pink polka dot underwear they would assume it made the petite young woman seem even more girlish. But that would be neglecting the sight of her in them. The way she filled out that b cup bra... The way those boy-short cut panties hugged her hips and elongated the lines of her small torso, accentuating the curve of her waist. And he had no doubt the back view of those panties was even better.

But his patience had suddenly fled him and he didn't want to wait to see how those polka dots hugged her bottom like a second skin. He grabbed her hips, hooking his thumbs and forefingers into the waistband, intending to tug them off from her but she stopped him before he could do so. Nell Jones had lightning quick reflexes for someone who spent most of their day in front of a computer screen, yanking his hands away from her hips with a scolding click of her tongue. He knew the look he gave her was pathetic and pleading, but it was hard to care when her eyes were filled with teasing, sensual promise.

"Play fair, Agent Callen," she said. "It's your turn."

She tugged at the hem of his shirt and he obliged in helping her strip it from his body. Then she hesitated. It didn't surprise him. They all hesitated, every woman he'd been with since... since he'd nearly died in that drive-by shooting. The scars were brutally obvious, after all. The women's reactions were varied enough (everything from horror to pity), but every single one hesitated, had that brief moment of alarm, of questioning just exactly who it was they had invited into their bed, into their body. For they were obviously scars from bullet wounds, from a traumatic, violent event. But Nell... Nell knew the scars' history, knew him. Some might say there was no difference between pity and sympathy. But being on the receiving end of both, Callen knew there was a significant one, and he could see it was sympathy causing the young woman's eyes to turn briefly watery.

"May I?" she asked, and he nodded. Nell reached out and touched the white, raised pucker of flesh on his chest, just below his collarbone. She traced it delicately with her finger tip. It was always worse when they wanted to touch them, for their attention and focus on his scars inevitably conjured the memory of not only being shot, but of the painful weeks of recovery. And then there was the judgment. What had he done to deserve such violence? What sort of terrible person was he?

Except, there was none of that in Nell's eyes. And in this case it was more than something to endure, it was something he needed to do. It was part of being a lover, letting another person close. He wanted to learn every inch of her body, and so he owed her the same, didn't he?

When she leaned in and pressed her soft lips to the hard scar tissue, a shiver ran through him despite the fact that all the nerves were dead beneath that particular portion of skin. And he abruptly forgot any other thought in his head other than the desire to make love to the young woman before him…

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**A/N: One chapter to go… Hopefully, with all this build-up, it doesn't disappoint too much. **


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: This was supposed to be a brief distraction, not one that kidnapped my imagination entirely (and honestly, spawned other Nell/Callen fics now currently in the works). Oh well, Here we are…**

**WARNING: As per usual (at least for this fic), smut… And since I find erotica profuse with biological jargon or slang either too much like a technical manual or too crude, I'm afraid my tendency is towards melodramatic, sappy and likely cheesy. You have been duly warned.**

* * *

This had been a mistake. A terrible, wonderful mistake. G. Callen had never felt anything quite like this. Well, at least, not in a very long time. And honestly, probably not ever. It was beyond pleasurable. But it was also beyond terrifying. It wasn't easy for him to relinquish control. And he never let his guard down completely. But somehow, Nell Jones had gotten through his barriers, leaving him exposed to the very core.

And he could not tell what her intentions were. Was she simply gazing upon his pathetic, crippled soul? Was she planning on stealing away with it? Or was she just poking it with a stick to see what the reaction would be? He didn't know. Worse, he couldn't tell if she had any idea what she was doing to him. And he didn't even know how she had laid the soul of him bare as she'd done. Was it from hearing her speak his name, rather than some made-up alias, as he touched her and she him? Was it from looking into her expressive eyes as he slid into her body with the sensation of finally coming home? Or was it something else entirely, something he'd never figure out no matter how long he tried?

And did she feel the same?

His brain seemed to latch onto the question, burned with it. _What was Nell feeling? _Judging by the noises emanating from her throat, she was feeling the intense pleasure that was likewise surging through his nervous system as she sat straddling his hips and riding him hard. He felt the tension building, _building_ in her and he gritted his teeth against the pull of her orgasm, because he just wasn't done with her yet, not until he knew she felt the same.

He took in the sight of the young woman in ecstasy atop him, knowing it was inarguably the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Her tensed muscles defined elegant lines beneath pale skin that glowed in the soft light of the bedside lamp. Her back was arched, her head thrown back, lips parted and eyes closed. She had cried out but was silent in this moment of synaptic overload. The expanse of her throat was exposed, enticingly vulnerable. He followed the line of it down her body, past round breasts that were thrust prominently forward for the dramatic curve of her spine, down over the arch of her ribcage and along the inward slope of her belly, lingering on the adorable depression of her navel, continuing all the way down, over where deep inside her belly a womb as ripe as fruit still on the vine lay safely nestled, to where her vulnerable flesh was covered by a thatch of ginger-colored curls. Curls that mingled with his own much darker pubic hair.

Nell was beautiful, like a Grecian statue, a work of art. But so much better; _warm and alive_. But those ancient artisans truly could capture the drama of the moment, the emotion of the subject. And Nell's pose would please them to no end. The beauty of her curves accentuated by the tension in her muscles. The nip in of her waist, the flare of her hips. The placement of her hands as if searching to find purchase in the world against the wave of blinding pleasure. One arm stretched out behind her to grip his upper thigh for support. The fingers of the other digging into the flesh of one breast, the stiff nipple peeking out between those slender fingers. And the expression of transcendent ecstasy on her upturned face.

She was perfect. Better than perfect, because she was a real, human, flawed person as well. And Callen _needed _her to feel more than the endorphin rush of a well-earned orgasm.

Her body relaxed within seconds of its climax, providing him just enough time to carve the tableau of the orgasmic angel into his memory. And then she seemed to melt against him, and he pulled her down onto his chest. She sighed heavily, and then made a startled outcry as he rolled them so that he lay atop her. The unexpected friction of their shifting, entwined flesh made him gasp. And he was forced to take a moment to regain control of himself. Because he wasn't done with Nell Jones just yet.

"Why didn't you finish?" she asked, breathless.

The only response he gave her was to withdraw almost completely from her body and then to proceed to penetrate her as slowly as he could will himself to do. Nell's fingers dug into his shoulders, and her eyes were squeezed tightly shut. In fact, he wasn't sure she had looked him directly in the eyes since he'd first drove himself into her tender flesh, when he'd been captivated by her hazel eyes and very aware of that flicker of pain, of panic, and he had shifted their position so that she could control the speed and intensity of their encounter.

She whimpered as he continued to thrust agonizingly slowly into her, always pushing just a little harder, a little deeper.

"Please." It was almost a plea. "Please, just finish."

He checked the upward thrust of her hips with a firm hand that held her lower body down. Apparently, she wanted to help him along, put an end to the prolonged, drawn out encounter but he wouldn't let her get out of it that easily. He needed her to feel what he was feeling. Namely, out of control, exposed, entirely at the mercy of another (and uncertain whether it was as bad a thing as he always thought it'd be).

Cupping her face with one hand, he stroked her soft, flushed cheek with his thumb, and urged her to hear him, to respond to him, to give him what he needed.

"Nell, look at me."

She turned her face into the palm of his hand. Her fingers dug deeper into his shoulders as his dug into her hip and he drove deeper into her. Maybe if he could just reach the core of her, he'd discover her soul just as she touched his. But he needed her to... "Open your eyes."

It was more forceful, a growl accompanying the demand. She responded tremulously, and he'd have felt bad but he didn't think her shaken response was from displeasure or dislike. Perhaps discomfort and fear, but not from him. Rather, fear of something inside herself.

"I-I can't. Please, just finish. I need you to finish this."

"I won't." Thrust. A small whimper from Nell. "Not until you look at me."

She opened her eyes, blinked against the lamplight and focused on his face.

God. Oh, god.

The pupils of her gorgeous hazel eyes were so dilated they were nearly entirely black. And there was sufficient light in the room that they should've contracted significantly when she'd opened them. No, it was other stimulus that had her eyes so dark and receptive. And the impact of staring into them was immense. They were like the abyss, sucking him inexorably in. But they were also vast, containing an entire universe within themselves. And utterly captivating.

"Tell me," he whispered. "Tell me what it feels like."

Instead of the normal female platitudes of 'you feel so hard' and "oh. you're so big', Nell gave him what he really wanted, the truth of how she felt at that moment. And it was so very Nell.

"I feel like a taut string," she whispered. "vibrating with a persistent, continual frequency that's threatening to shake every molecule in my body apart. And waiting for that moment when every atom of my being disperses. And terrified of it. And _needing _it."

So, what Nell Jones was feeling was different than what Callen was experiencing. Different, yet entirely the same. His opposite, yet his completion.

"Please, G."

He readily obliged her request, grabbing her hips hard and driving her home with several forceful thrusts, finally feeling that last bit of resistance deep within her give way, and his release quickly following with an incredible rush of sensation that threatened to sweep him away entirely and left him clinging to the only thing anchoring him to reality, the very thing that pulled him away from it…

Nell. Nell Jones. His perfect opposite.

THE END

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**A/N: Or is it? Okay, it is the end to this fic. But I am considering a Nell-centric sequel to this one, since it's already in my head.  
**


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